Chapter 6: The Secret My Mother Left Behind
I read the message four times.
There's something you don't know about your mother—and Vanessa knows exactly what it is.
My fingers went numb around the phone.
For three years, I'd learned to live with the empty space my mother had left behind. I'd learned to recognize her handwriting on old recipe cards, to remember the sound of her sewing machine, and to fall asleep without expecting to hear her footsteps in the hallway.
But I'd never learned how to stop wanting more time with her.
Now someone was using that longing to frighten me.
I looked across the ballroom.
Vanessa had moved toward the exit.
“Emma?”” Lily asked.
“What's wrong?””
I showed her the message.
Her face changed.
“Who sent that?””
“I don't know.””
“Don't reply yet.””
I glanced toward Vanessa again.
She was speaking urgently to Madison, who shook her head and walked away.
I slipped the phone into my purse.
“I'm going to find out what she knows.””
Lily caught my hand.
“Emma, be careful. Vanessa has already lied about the dress. We don't know whether this is another trick.””
“That's why I need answers.””
I found Vanessa near the hallway leading to the parking lot.
She was standing beside a tall window, gripping the edge of her phone. The ballroom lights reflected in the glass, making her look like a stranger trapped behind her own image.
“Vanessa.””
She turned sharply.
“What do you want?””
I held up my phone.
“Who sent this?””
She glanced at the screen.
The color drained from her face.
“Where did you get that?””
“Someone texted me. They said you know something about Mom.””
Vanessa's gaze darted toward the ballroom.
“Delete it.””
“Why?””
“Because it's probably a scam.””
“You looked terrified when you saw it.””
“I'm not terrified!””
Her voice rose so loudly that two students turned toward us.
She lowered it again.
“Emma, listen to me. You need to delete that message and forget you ever received it.””
I stared at her.
“What do you know about my mother?””
“Nothing.””
“Then why are you asking me to delete it?””
Vanessa pressed her lips together.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she looked away.
“Because your mother left things behind that you don't understand.””
My heart thudded.
“What things?””
“Emma, please. Not here.””
I almost laughed.
“Not here? You've spent the entire evening trying to humiliate me in front of everyone. Now you suddenly care about privacy?””
She flinched.
“I said I'm sorry about the dress.””
“No, you didn't.””
“I was angry.””
“You threw paint at me.””
“I know!””
Her voice cracked.
For the first time, the anger seemed to collapse under the weight of something else.
Fear.
She looked down at her hands.
“I didn't think you'd actually make something beautiful out of it.””
I waited.
She swallowed.
“When I saw you coming downstairs, I realized I'd made a mistake. Everyone was looking at you. Dad was proud of you. And I couldn't stand it.””
“That explains why you were cruel. It doesn't explain the message.””
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“My mother told me not to talk about your mother's things.””
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
“What things?””
She shook her head.
“I can't.””
“Why not?””
“Because if I tell you, everything changes.””
I stared at her.
“Everything already changed when Mom died.””
For a moment, Vanessa looked almost ashamed.
Then her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen and immediately rejected the call.
I caught the name before it disappeared.
Mom.
Our stepmother, Patricia.
“Call her back,” I said.
“No.””
“Why?””
“Because she's going to tell me to keep quiet.””
The hallway seemed to grow colder.
“Vanessa, what happened?””
She looked at me, her eyes shining.
“Your mother wasn't just a woman who liked sewing, Emma. She was a designer.””
I blinked.
“I know she made clothes.””
“No. I mean professionally.””
I stared at her.
My mother had worked from home when I was young. She altered wedding dresses, repaired vintage garments, and occasionally made gowns for local clients. I'd always thought of her as a talented seamstress who loved creating beautiful things.
Vanessa reached into her purse.
She pulled out a small, faded photograph.
The image showed my mother standing in a studio, wearing a black dress with silver flowers across the shoulders. Beside her stood a younger woman I recognized as Patricia.
Behind them, a sign read: Hartwell Emerging Designers Exhibition.
My breath caught.
“What is this?””
Vanessa's fingers trembled.
“Your mother entered a design competition years ago. She won. The prize was a scholarship and a partnership with a fashion house.””
I looked at the photograph again.
“Why didn't I know?””
“Because she turned it down.””
“Why?””
Vanessa looked toward the ballroom.
“Because of me.””
The words were barely audible.
I stared at her.
“What do you mean?””
She swallowed hard.
“My mother and your mother were friends before Dad married Patricia. They worked together for a while. When your mother won the competition, Patricia believed she deserved part of the credit.””
I shook my head.
“That doesn't make sense.””
“They had designed things together. But the winning gown was your mother's original work. Patricia thought the partnership should have gone to her, too.””
Vanessa looked at me.
“They fought. Badly. Your mother walked away from the opportunity rather than let the argument destroy their friendship.””
I felt dizzy.
“And what does that have to do with you?””
Vanessa's face crumpled.
“I was there the day they argued. I was little, but I heard Patricia say she'd make sure your mother regretted rejecting her.””
A cold sensation crept down my spine.
“Are you saying Patricia did something to Mom?””
“No!”” Vanessa answered immediately.
“No, I don't know that. I'm not saying that.””
“Then why are you telling me this?””
“Because Patricia kept your mother's portfolio. Sketches, photographs, original designs. She said she'd return them one day, but she never did.””
I stared at the photograph.
My mother had left behind a sewing machine, some fabric, a few photographs, and a box of unfinished projects.
I'd never known there was a portfolio.
“Where is it?”” I asked.
Vanessa shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“Does Dad know?””
“No.””
“How do you know all this?””
She hesitated.
Then she pulled another object from her purse.
A small silver key.
“I found this in Patricia's desk last month. It was inside an envelope with your mother's name on it.””
I took the key.
It was cold against my palm.
“What does it open?””
“I don't know. But the envelope had an address written on it. An old storage unit downtown.””
My thoughts raced.
“Why didn't you tell me before?””
Vanessa looked away.
“Because I wanted Patricia to like me. And because she told me that if anyone asked about your mother, I should say the past was none of their business.””
I held the key tightly.
“Is that why you tried to ruin my dress? Because you thought I'd start asking questions?””
“No,” Vanessa whispered.
“I did that because I was jealous. I wanted you to feel small.””
At least that answer was honest.
She wiped her eyes.
“But when I saw your gown tonight, I remembered the photograph. Your mother made dresses that looked like that. She used unusual colors and embroidered flowers into places other designers would leave plain.””
I glanced down at my crimson roses.
“She taught me to sew.””
“I know.””
Vanessa's voice broke.
“And I think Patricia was afraid you'd become like her.””
I stared at the key.
The scholarship suddenly felt different.
It was still a dream come true, but it had become something else, too—a door opening onto a part of my mother's life I'd never known existed.
I slipped the key into my purse.
“I'm going to find that portfolio.””
Vanessa grabbed my arm.
“Emma, don't.””
I pulled away.
“You don't get to tell me what to do anymore.””
“Please. You don't understand what Patricia is capable of when she thinks she's losing control.””
I looked at her.
“Then you should have told the truth before tonight.””
She lowered her head.
I turned toward the ballroom.
Lily was waiting near the entrance, and Dad stood beside her. When he saw my face, he immediately walked toward me.
“Emma, what's happened?””
I hesitated.
I wasn't ready to tell him everything. Not until I understood what the key opened and whether Vanessa's story was true.
“There's something about Mom I need to investigate.””
Dad's expression softened.
“Whatever it is, you don't have to do it alone.””
I looked down at my purse.
For the first time in years, I felt as though I might be standing at the beginning of a new chapter rather than the end of an old one.
Then my phone vibrated again.
A second message appeared from the unknown number.
If Vanessa gave you the key, don't go to the storage unit alone. Patricia already knows you've started looking.
I stared at the screen.
Behind me, Vanessa whispered, “Oh, no.””
I turned.
She was looking at the message over my shoulder, her face completely white.
Then she said something that made my heart stop.
“Emma, that isn't a stranger texting you.””
She pointed at the number.
“That's the phone number of the woman who helped your mother create her final collection.””
May you like
And before I could ask what that meant, Vanessa added:
“She disappeared the week your mother died.””
